


What's Been Placed in Our Paws

by Necrosys



Category: Abby's Flying Fairy School, Sesame Street (US TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Magic, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Corruption, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Orphans, Police Brutality, The puppets are real and alive and are not puppets, They have legs that move you guys, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29577609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Necrosys/pseuds/Necrosys
Summary: The Creanthros of the world have listened to fairy prophecies for guidance for millenniums. As the world around the Creanthros grew darker, and the human race turned against them for things out of their control, the fairies gave another prophecy. The three strongest fairies, born in the same year, would free the Creanthros from the binds the humans had placed them in, uniting all sentient beings and bringing equality. As great as that sounds, and as much as people believed it at the time, all of the fairies have died. Rumors and whispers of remaining fairies are pushed down by the people in charge, in an attempt to crush the spirits of the Creanthros around the world. Sesame street, the street directly below the fairy capital in the clouds, was one of the most heavily affected cities by this loss. The massive Creanthro population being mistreated, overtaken by the bigoted human government and law enforcement.Abby Cadabby and her two best friends, Blogg and Gonnigan, had just been searching the basement of the near abandoned schoolhouse they lived in with their teacher and guardian, Mrs. Sparklenose. Little did they know, the book they stumbled across detailed their destinies.
Relationships: Abby Cadabby/Gonnigan
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue: The End of Mr. Oscar

It never seemed to stop raining.

Elmo hadn’t noticed it before Zoey had pointed it out, and quite frankly he didn’t feel the need to. Putting on his damaged and worn out rainboots and jumping in the puddles outside was a calming activity, and he didn’t see any sort of issue with the rain being near constant. The noise helped him sleep, the water washed the dirty city streets clean, and the park’s worms came out to greet him when he visited, even though Elmo was a monster of few words. Yes, Elmo quite liked the rain.

He wouldn’t have ever given it a second thought if it wasn’t for Zoey. The girl was headstrong and brash, wearing tulle skirts over jeans and khakis, refusing to listen to anything the people in town had to say about it. Her fiery ginger fur complimented this part of her, Elmo thought. Now every time he saw the color orange he thought of his roommate. He smiled a bit, putting his paw on the cold window in front of him. 

The rain was fine for him, but it was a large problem for Zoey. She couldn’t dance in the rain, or she’d slip. She couldn’t go out without the supervision of an adult, despite being perfectly capable and able to take care of herself. She was 14, she insisted, and that meant that she was old enough to be able to experience the world outside of their small, dingy apartment building. Mr. Hooper always hushed her quickly, pulling her into his arms and begging her to believe him about the world below.

That was the sort of person Mr. Hooper was, wasn’t it? Always mumbling quietly and leading residents of the building with tender, careful hands. Mr. Hooper told the best stories, using shadows as puppets on the walls of the living room to act out the scenes. One of the favorites of the children living there had to be the one about the fairy kingdom above them, the one that had tried to save Creanthro kind (A shorter word than Monster, Talking animal, Fairy, and magical being-kind that the community had adopted.) just years before. None of the members of the building believed all of the fairies had died, though. In spite of the fact that Mr. Hooper used it as a cautionary tale about staying inside the building and sticking close to known, safe, ally adults. Elmo always thought of the color brown when he thought of Mr. Hooper, it was warm and calm like him. 

The rain was most definitely blue, and blue was a good color. Blue was the color of his hospital gown once upon a time, and the color of the balloon he’d been given there. Blue was the color of the car he’d been driven to the building in, and the color of the carpets on the kindergarten classroom floor. Elmo chuckled as he remembered the cockroaches that resided in that room. Zoey was always quick to point out that it wasn’t normal for a school to be infested with roaches, but Elmo hardly paid that sort of commentary any attention. Who was to say what was normal and not normal, after all? Everyone had separate experiences, normal was different for everyone. 

What most definitely normal though, was the loud clanging of metal against metal that Elmo heard from down below.

Elmo removed his paw from the window, shrinking back slightly. The noise had startled him a little bit, but it hadn’t hurt him at all or caused him to cry. He took a deep, shuddering breath and returned to his previous position, staring downwards at the glistening street below. 

They were beating Mr. Oscar again. 

Mr. Oscar hadn’t been listening to the laws the humans had set again, Elmo mused to himself silently, Mr. Hooper mentioned him quite a few times. The creature-children in the building were accustomed to hearing the nervous warnings about the scruffy, trash-dwelling monster, and equally accustomed to sneaking out to hand him leftovers or pieces of fruit. Mr. Oscar especially liked the rotten apples; Elmo had shuddered the last time he’d handed the homeless monster one, the brown juice almost splattering on his fur. It wasn’t something he was welcome to trying himself, but he didn’t give the monster below any grief for it. No, Mr. Oscar was a friend. Despite the grumpy demeanor the grouch had, he had never harmed anyone that Elmo knew of, and he’d always tried to comply with the law to the best of his ability, but he could not get a job.

Elmo knew that Mr. Oscar claimed that he was happy without one, that dwelling in the city trash cans was definitely a way to go, and an outcome he wasn’t the least bit disappointed with. He loved his garbage, and he wasn’t hurting anybody by being in their trash can, Mr. Hooper had even given the homeless grouch permission to do so. Oscar had denied a room in the apartment complex, after all, he didn’t like acts of charity. The rotten apples and banana peels were just counted as throwing garbage away, even if the children were excited to feed him.

He wasn’t supposed to live on the street though. Humans complained of the smell, or the infection he could bring to the community, the diseases the grouch could hold and the worry that he’d jump out from his metal sanctuary and bite someone. He wasn’t allowed to live where he was living, and Mr. Hooper couldn’t admit to being complacent. Where would the children go, after all, if he were not living in the building, and working in the small general store below?

Elmo watched silently as his friend was assaulted. The trash can had been flung to the side, and the contents that were once inside were littered across the glittering pavement. They were holding him down. They were grabbing at his matted fur and beating him with large metal canes. The words Mr. Oscar was yelling were muffled in Elmo’s ears, the small monster drawing his paw back from the window and clutching it to his chest. He was helpless. 

He barely noticed when Zoey opened the door with a soft click and a long creak, padding over to where Elmo was sitting. She sighed, putting her hand on Elmo’s shoulder, gazing to the scene below bitterly. 

“He isn’t doin nothin. He’s our friend. I’m so mad.” 

Her words dripped with poison as she spat at nothing in particular, the grip on Elmo’s shoulder tightening. Elmo said nothing.

“Why am I mad? Well I'll tell you this, Elmo. Mr. Hooper told me to stay outta it. Stay outta it? I could be down there helping! I could be down there swingin back at em! But Mr. Hooper doesn’t want it on my permanent record.” Her anger trailed off into mockery as she swung her hips, “I’d beat the shit outta them, Elms. I promise you that. Remember when I hit that guy with my baseball bat, behind the store? No one caught me then, Elmo. No one would catch me this time.”

Elmo’s gaze turned to his friend, his expression slightly fearful, but compassionate and understanding. “E..Elmo thought, Mr. Hooper told Zoey never to talk about that.”

Zoey scoffed, letting go of Elmo’s shoulder to cross her arms before walking closer to the window, continuing to speak. “Hooper don’t know shit, Elmo. Geez. I thought you knew that, but I can’t blame you with your head injury. Not all adults know everything, remember that Elmo.”

Elmo was about to answer her, make some sort of comment about how Mr. Hooper had also banned talking about his head injury, or the strange way in which he had talked since then, since the accident, but he said nothing. He didn’t really have the chance to say anything at all as his attention was pulled back to the window. There had been a loud screech.

The red monster’s pupils constricted as he got closer to the window placing both paws to the cold surface. The drops pattering against the glass caused small vibrations in his arms, keeping him slightly grounded as he stared at the horrors below. 

Oscar was laying face down in a pool of blood. Elmo couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, just that the green grouch’s fur had been tainted with the substance, and that the police men that had been screaming at him this whole time had begun to step back. The pool expanded, but Mr. Oscar didn’t move a muscle. 

“They don’t wanna get their stupid boots dirty…” Zoey clicked her tongue, pressing her face closer to the glass, shoving Elmo aside slightly. “..Is.. he okay?”

He wasn’t okay. Elmo could figure that much out without going down to check for himself. His arms looked twisted and bent in ways that made the young monster’s stomach churn, his back seeming almost snapped in half. Why had they hurt Mr. Oscar so badly? Elmo’s lower lip trembled as he got out of his chair, backing up from the window. The policemen had looked upwards, and that made even Zoey retreat nervously.

The two teenage monsters stared at each other, their eyes wide with panic. The silence in the room was almost deafening to Elmo as they glanced back and forth frantically, hands moving to point or do something, anything to help process what they had just seen, but ultimately the movements died off in a series of short and robotic pauses. The rain was coming down even harder now, the silence being filled with an even louder pelting.

The sharp yell of Mr. Hooper broke the moment, calling for all of the young monsters, animals, and other creatures to come down for dinner. Zoey looked at Elmo with a somber yet fearful expression, her mouth desperately trying to twist into a smile. 

“...It isn’t dinner he’s calling us down for.. Is it.” Zoey laughed gently, holding out her hand for Elmo to grab onto. The two didn’t mind walking like that, hand in hand, feeling the fur of the other monster was definitely comforting in a world like theirs. Elmo quickly grabbed onto it, silently thanking Zoey for offering.

“Elmo… doesn’t think so.”

The color of the rain was no longer blue, Elmo thought to himself. From now on, the color of the rain would be the color that he’d seen on the sidewalk that day, the color that stained his fur and that rested in the teeth of monsterkind. The rain’s color was red, and it would never be reverted back to how Elmo thought of it before. 

The pair carefully made their way down the wooden steps, the red monster quietly wishing that the ceaseless rain would finally come to an end, and let Mr. Oscar’s body rest.


	2. Chapter 1: The Sudden Findings of the Mind-Magicked Fairyboy

Blogg had never had reason to believe that his teacher was withholding anything from him. The small and twig-like fairy had guided him away from dangerous situations, sure, but she wasn’t hiding anything. She’d taught them everything she knew, saved them when their parents were lost to the war they had created. Why would she have anything to gain out of keeping things from him? Important things like this, no less. Blogg straightened, blowing the dust off of the leather book he had just found.

The book wasn’t like any of the schoolbooks he had seen before, or anything he’d grown up with. It was a light brown, the color of coffee with too much creamer (In Blogg’s opinion.), The golden letters on the front embroidered with thread, spelling out a word he didn’t recognize. The binding between the pages seemed to be the same type of thread, perhaps a little bit stronger. Maybe a strengthening spell? Blogg ran his fat blue fingers over the pages and spine of the book tentatively, unsure if it would turn into dust in his hands.

The closest thing he could relate it to were spellbooks he’d seen in the library and mulled over for weeks on end, trying to lap up every bit of knowledge he could have. Even though fairies were only capable of things within their respective fields for the most part, there were definitely some general spells that Blogg had brought back to his classmates. He’d taught them basic levitation, object enlargement to a very slight degree, simple spells to help ease muscle aches in wings, things you would learn from any beginner’s spellbook. They were too hyper and distractible for Blogg’s taste though, and frequently interrupted his explanations. In turn, Blogg neglected to help them with later or more specific spells, opting to practice by himself in the basement library, pouring his heart into every word he repeated aloud. The mind magic oriented fairy often closed his eyes to recite the words by memory, feeling the tender brushing of the magic inside of him leave his body and gather in his wand. It was an addicting feeling for sure, and Blogg was silently thankful that he had not been alone all these years. He would have had too much time on his hands to get lost in the feeling doing magic brought. 

Classmates though, was an understatement. They really had been living together since their young years, only being about 3 or 4 when they met each other. The frail and thin toothpick of a teacher nervously herding them into the basement of the school for protection. Abby hadn’t minded a single bit when she had learned what was happening on the outside, expressing excitement and bewilderment. Gonnigan had cried profusely for days, refusing to eat or sleep without his mother and father there with him. Blogg did neither. He wasn’t stupid enough to feel excited about genocide, and he wasn’t weak enough to cry about it. That’s what he told himself, anyways, as he used to fight back the tears. Feeling sorry for what you lost gets you nowhere. He didn’t care to brood about and feel sorry for himself. 

Blogg held the book closely to his furry, purple chest, flapping his teal and coral butterfly wings until he lifted himself off of the ground. The soft sounds of sparkling magic filled the room as he began to fly upwards. His plan had been to quickly and quietly fly up the stairs, as to not cause any sort of creaking from the old, un-sanded wood. After he got to the top, he’d discretely go to ask Mrs. Sparklenose about the book. If Gonnigan and Abby didn’t interrupt him, it’d be much easier to put the book back if it was deemed too advanced, and it’d be much easier to continue using it anyways in secret if they had no idea it existed. 

He was satisfied with this plan until it was stopped abruptly in it’s tracks, the stairway being cut off by none other than Abby Cadabby herself.

Abby Cadabby. The girl had frequently referred to her last name as a thing of pride, knowing full well the other children could not remember theirs, and that the records of their birth had been burned. Gonnigan and Blogg had no last names. They were simply classmates, friends, and emotionally they were brothers, but Abby was special. Abby was so special all of the time, wasn’t she. Blogg didn’t hate her, but the rage he felt towards her near constantly almost felt like hate. He hated that he’d die for her, but he didn’t hate her. He could hate the poofs of purple and pink hair that bounced on top of her head, tied back by chains of daisies. He could hate the blue and purple leaf-shaped tulle that made the most annoying swishy noise as she flew and walked by. He could hate her voice and her upbeat and innocent personality, he could hate everything she stood for as a person, but he could not bring himself to hate her. 

Blogg rolled his black, pinprick pupils at the young lady in front of him, clutching the book tighter than he’d been before. His underbitten mouth twisted up in a bit of a frustrated snarl or sneer, and the dragon-like ears on his head flattened. “What do you want, Abby? I’m doing something very important right no-”

“I can see that!” Her shrill and cracking voice exclaimed. God how her voice grated on his nerves. He much preferred the gentle stuttering of Gonnigan, even though he mumbled and it was near impossible to pick out what he was saying half of the time. “I can seeee the secret book in your hand! You’re covering it up from me!” 

The pink fairy girl giggled, reaching forwards with fluffy four-fingered paws. “Lemme have it! Lemme see! Pleaseeee?” Her batting eyelashes and hand clasped pleas did nothing to sway Blogg. He huffed impatiently. 

“No, Abby. I’m taking this to Mrs. Sparklenose. There. You know what I'm doing. Are you happy? Can you leave me alone now? Go paint or look at clouds or whatever it is you do in your free time, you don’t need to know anything else.” 

Blogg couldn’t deny that the sound of his own voice was also frustrating. He hated the odd way in which his vocal chords seemed to gag his own throat. Trolls and fairies should never be allowed to have hybrid babies, how lucky for him that his parents had decided to ignore that piece of advice. ‘It’s almost what they deserved, to die.’ Blogg thought bitterly as he tried to push past Abby’s hovering body. 

“WAIT! You gotta let me do it, PLEASSSE? You know she listens to me a WHOLE lot more than she listens to you. She wants me to progress magically too! And she doesn’t like you snooping around. Maybe if it’s me bringing her the book, she’ll be gentler!” The girl squeaked, grabbing the book without permission and attempting to tug it out of his hands. 

The purple fairy was not stupid, nor was he born yesterday. Tugging back on the book would do no good, and might damage the pages or the binding inside. He sighed in irritation, placing a finger on the bridge of his orange nose, and closing his eyes. 

“Abby. You have to ask for things you want, y'know? People can say no to you! And people can say stuff like ‘Abby, you’re a mature adult woman now, please don’t cry if we tell you you can’t use or steal our things.’” Blogg grimaced as he mocked her. Nothing he was saying was a lie. She really was able to be called that now, since their last joint birthday celebration. Mrs. Sparklenose’s garden magic was really useful for that sort of thing, wasn’t it. Making all sorts of plants to be able to cook with. Blogg wished he were that useful, but his magic was better suited for some sort of combat, he’d been told. No use crying about that either.

“Yeah yeah okay but did you know about this prophecy thing?”

Blogg’s brows creased, opening his eyes and motioning for Abby to give the book back to him. The pink girl did not, mumbling the words on the page she had opened to and tracing the words with an outstretched finger. She seemed concentrated, pulling the book closer to her face as she made sure what she was reading was correct.

“What.. prophecy thing? I’d only read about blood magic for a second before-” he began before Abby cut him off. Again.

“Okay so it says here about some prophecy this guy talked about in the town square, down below on earth? In that city you can see if you push your head through the clouds? That one.. And it saaayyss…” She took a moment to squint at the words again before snapping the book shut loudly, holding it close to her own chest. “It says that three fairies born in the same month of the same year will save Creanthro kind, basically.”

“You can’t just summerize a prophecy, Abby! They’re- They’re written the way they’re written for a reason! Sometimes words have double meanings or-or like.. They’ve been formatted to make a picture! You can’t just-” He stammered, lunging forward to try and grab the book from her hands. She laughed, swaying to the side so that he missed.

“Okay well, we’ll see what Mrs. Sparklenose has to say about it! I bet she’ll think it’s real great.” She stuck her tongue out at the shorter boy, giggling afterwards. He couldn’t catch her as she began to fly upwards, the beating of her much bigger, pink wings giving her an advantage. The twinkling sounds of magic began to grow louder as Blogg pushed himself harder, trying to reach her before she got to their caretaker. He mentally cursed himself for being so slow, debating whether or not he should add physical training to his routine. 

The room at the top of the stairs was the main room they had lived in, sleeping bags huddled on the floor of what was once an art area for kindergarteners. They’d enjoyed painting together as small children, and the walls were littered with drawings they’d done. It brought good memories to mind when Blogg sat to think about it, but now was not the time for that. Now was the time for rushing into the main classroom, with the large teal-framed window and the dusty stage that none of them used. There were plastic preschool chairs and tables, things Blogg had thought about learning to melt and repurpose. He didn’t, though. He knew Gonnigan liked those seats too much. 

Speaking of Gonnigan, the thin blue furred boy was sitting at one of the tables, hunched over and scribbling something onto a piece of stained paper. His eyes were locked onto it, as if he were some sort of predator attempting to hunt his own work down, and Mrs. Sparklenose rubbed his back gently in circles. Blogg knew from experience that this did almost nothing. Between her size, the thick fur they had covering their body, and their clothing, the small, doll like hands were barely felt. She insisted though, and perhaps for Gonnigan the physical contact was helpful. Blogg couldn’t help but notice that what he was writing was not words at all, but a roughly drawn swirl of lines. It really was him scribbling feverishly. The boy was definitely odd like that, biting and tugging at the sleeves of his black striped hoodie, and pulling his seafoam green hair in front of his face. Blogg yelled out to Mrs. Sparklenose right as Abby opened her mouth. 

“MRS. SPARKLENOSE-” They both screamed, trying to yell over the other. The noise startled Gonnigan, causing him to flail slightly and drop his black pen. The small teacher whipped her head around, the agitated expression on her face saying all that needed to be said.

Both frantically flying fairies slowed down, coming to a rest on the ground in front of their teacher. Blogg said nothing. If he tried to speak, Abby would just speak over him again. He had no intention of being spoken over. He would wait for Abby to babble nonsense that she didn’t understand, and explain correctly after he had been asked to by Mrs. Sparklenose. Again, it would have been a simple plan had something not disrupted it.

“Where did you find that?” The angry teacher’s voice warbled, her generally motherly tone seeming abrasive and authoritarian. She flapped her thin wings quickly, flitting over to the book that was as tall as she was, and attempting to grab it from Abby. Abby turned her body to block her.

“This is a book I found downstairs!-” Abby began, causing Blogg to huff. He wouldn’t correct her, there’d be no point. How frustrating. “Inside it has this really cool prophecy about saving the world below us? And I think the prophecy is. About us?”

Mrs. Sparklenose clicked her tongue, flying to the front of Abby again to attempt taking away the book. Abby again turned the other way, grabbing it even tighter with both of her pink paws. She shut her eyes, refusing to look at the teacher. It was a childish scene that Blogg wanted no part of, he opted to gently pat Gonnigan on the back. The blue boy purred quietly in response, fluttering his wings slightly. 

“You can’t be serious Abby..” The teacher groaned, curling her small hands into fists and shaking a bit, causing the twinkling of magic to grow louder. “You can’t just believe everything in random diaries from the basement.”

“AHA!” The pink girl exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at her teacher. “So you DO know what this is. I didn’t even say it was a diary. Hehe! So it’s someone’s diary, who’s is it?”

‘“It belonged to the old janitor around here..” Mrs. Sparklenose pressed her own pinched fingers to the bridge of her nose. Blogg wondered for a moment if that’s where he’d gotten it. “Look, just. Give me the book back. It’s dangerous.”

“WHY?” Abby squealed, holding it close to her again. “I haven’t even said why I wanted to show it to you yet! That’s real funny that you’d think it’s dangerous.. Means you’ve READ it before.” 

For once, Blogg was inclined to agree with Abby. The fairy girl had barely said a thing and already the teacher was angry and cautious. There had to be something she knew that they didn’t know for that sort of reaction to make any sense. Blogg crossed his arms tightly, staring at his teacher with contempt. Through his entire childhood, the dainty woman had told him that information was a right that everyone deserved, handing him books much too complicated for him to understand at the time. She’d lectured her three pupils constantly, telling them about the value of knowledge. Who was she to take this away from them? The book didn’t have any sort of magic lock or spell on it, Blogg would have sensed it upon opening, and even if there were spells in it he knew Abby and Gonnigan would never try them, they never tried magic like Blogg did. The purple troll hybrid huffed, shifting his weight onto one foot. 

“Yeah, Mrs. Sparklenose. We haven’t even explained anything yet and you’re INCREDIBLY defensive. Why is it so dangerous, exactly? Why do you suddenly have the right to withhold information from us?”

Mrs. Sparklenose was definitely a character. The skirt she’d made out of a flower used to be bright and white, but now it was wilting at the edges into browns and yellows. Her green striped tights had begun to fray at the edges, and her messy yellow and green tuft of hair stuck out in all directions. She pursed her small lips, brushing his skirt downwards and glancing to the side for a second, before beginning to speak again. 

“Because. Sometimes, things can be dangerous mentally. Reading the journal of someone who died is a VERY personal affair, and even if you could prove 100% that whatever you’re reading is true, and not just the craze ramblings of a lonely basement-dwelling cleaner, I couldn’t permit you to go through with anything you’re thinking of. That prophecy isn’t about you. Period.”

“It has to be.” Abby argued, opening the book again close to her chest. “It says RIGHT here..” She flipped to the correct page, slamming her finger down onto it haphazardly, “It says RIGHT here that three fairies born on the same month in the same year will save everyone.”

“Really? That’s what it says?” The teacher scoffed, crossing her arms not unlike Blogg was doing. 

The troll-hybrid’s loyalty had once again moved sides, knowing that in this moment his teacher was correct. The book was old, and it was by someone who wasn’t alive anymore to clarify what it meant. If Mrs. Sparklenose didn’t know how to explain the book to them, something could go terribly wrong. Blogg knew spells could get out of hand if not controlled and practiced exactly how they were created. He shuddered, his purple fur rustling a bit. What DID the book say that had gotten Abby so excited? He hadn’t had the chance to check on that page yet. 

Abby cleared her throat, holding the book farther away from her now. She looked like a preacher, standing before a crowd and reciting ancient words from texts long since outdated. Blogg huffed again, watching her stance transform into one of pride and excitement, the smile on her face growing wider as the words left her mouth. 

“In years future, after gods have turned their back on man  
Three babe of same year, month and race will descend from clouds to land  
The strongest three of all fairkind   
Through use of books, magic and mind  
Will free the creatures bound by man, unite the hands that duel  
The justice dealt, the freedom felt, their ends no longer cruel.”

It would be no surprise if Abby managed to get more words in, or if Blogg had spoken up to correct her pronunciation or reading style, or the contents of the book. It would have been no surprise if Mrs. Sparklenose hushed them, stole the book back and placed it inside of a vault or a safe that she conjured out of vines or plants. But none of those things happened. Instead, it was a surprise to hear Gonnigan’s quiet and nervous babbling echo into the then silent room.

“Babe of same year.. Month and race… Abby’s right! We’re all fairies, and we were all born in the same month and year right?” Gonnigan’s fingers intertwined with each other as he gripped his own hands for comfort, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously. He didn’t mean to butt in or be rude, and definitely didn’t mean to get in trouble, but he couldn’t help himself. Abby’s words began to swell in his chest, and it felt like the ramblings leaked out of his mouth without him being able to stop them.

“I’m a half-blood.” Blogg scoffed, snatching the book from Abby while she was distracted. He would admit, he didn’t blame her for looking at Gonnigan the way that she did, her eyes wide and sparkling with bewilderment. She was smirking now, feeling triumphant in the fact that she’d won Gonnigan over. 

“Oh that doesn’t MATTER!” Abby huffed, flapping her wings in frustration and causing the twinkling in the air that had died down to stir up again. “We all HAVE fairy blood in us. And of COURSE we’re the strongest, we’re the only ones left. It HAS to be about us.”

The purple hybrid couldn’t help but feel pity for his peers, generally looking down on their excitement and enthusiasm and refusing to entertain their delusions of grandeur. This time was no different, he thought, staring at Abby with a bit of a sly and knowing smile, the gentle expression felt less kind and more demeaning than Blogg realized. “Abby… Abby, Abby, Abby. You always have some big idea in that head of yours, don’t you? You don’t even know if we were born in the same month, we just celebrate it that way because we don’t have the papers to figure anything else out. I agree with Mrs. Sparklenose here! I think you’re going to be put in danger if you keep believing things like that, things with no proof and nothing to practice with your hands.”

Mrs. Sparklenose sighed for what felt like the 100th time that day, holding her hands together in a gentle prayer. “Abby, just.. Just let Blogg take the book back downstairs where it belongs. I know I can’t convince you to ignore what you just read, and if I were young and hyper like you I’d probably believe it too. But it’s.. It’s not right. To assume that you’re able to save everyone you don’t even know. You’ve never even been down there before.. Blogg?-” She turned to the purple fairy in an attempt to give him instructions, but his knowing smile and quiet nod as he flew back down the stairs was enough of a confirmation for her. 

“That book is not for you, Abby. Okay? Ignore it. You aren’t part of any prophecy. Everyone who would have heard that is dead, besides me. It’s best to listen to the information you have for sure, than information with no proof or reliable source.”

The pink fairy glanced around the room, her sparkling blue eyes not settling on any one thing too long as she rocked in place on her heels. Gonnigan had started drawing again, the noises of his pen scratching against the paper were constant and rhythmic, making Abby wonder if Gonnigan did it for the sound alone. Mrs. Sparklenose had flown back to her previous position, mumbling quietly into Gonnigan’s sensitive ears. They had been doing something before Abby and Blogg got there, maybe some sort of therapy or comfort thing? Abby didn’t really care. She started up her wings again, detaching her pompom-tipped wand from the belt around her waist that every fairy seemed to have. The pink paws gracefully swirled it around with intent, pulling a beanbag on the floor closer to her. She could have just flown a little bit farther, but she liked using magic whenever she could. It felt.. GOOD. To use it. It felt right, like it was her calling or purpose. She loved the feeling of it, and even though she didn’t like books or studying, she did try the smells she knew quite a lot, even carelessly at times. The fairy girl settled into the beanbag she had pulled up and leaned her head over the back of it, her fluffy pigtails bending as she rested with her head upside-down. 

One thing was for sure, she absolutely wasn’t going to drop the matter of the prophecy so quickly. Even though the prophecy was short and kind of dumb and was in weird English and her teacher/caretaker refused to allow her to think about it anymore, she’d do it anyways. She’d steal it from Blogg, who she knew would be trying to sneak it for himself to learn the forbidden information inside. She’d take it and learn everything there was to know, be a hero, and save the world. She’d free everyone down on earth, even though she hadn’t stepped foot on a street before in her life. The magic inside her felt like it just had to burst out, and even if she didn’t help everyone, if she could just.. Win. And be a hero, she wouldn’t mind much at all. It felt like her destiny.

Abby closed her eyes, sighing contentedly. It was a simple plan, wasn’t it? How could something so perfectly lined up.. Be wrong?


	3. Chapter 2: Corruption

It was easy to think of the cloud layer as simply fluffy and white, unable to withhold the weight of a monster or creature of earth. The fairies were not bound to this type of thinking, knowing above the layer the eye could see, that they lived among trees and plants. Gardens and buildings that had long since been abandoned. Abby herself loved this part of their small paradise, going in and out of the homes that belonged to the now deceased members of her species, turning over family photos and brushing dust off of armchairs. She’d wanted to take things from the houses many times, but had been warned against it. Blogg was adamant that it was disrespectful to the dead who might still haunt the worn out houses and apartments of the sky city, and Abby begrudgingly agreed. 

Today would be the ideal day for going through the personal belongings of the missing and dead fairies of the skycity she lived in, because today was a bit of a free day. A holiday, if you will, for the schoolhouse classmates that only they knew about. Once in a while, Mrs. Sparklenose would command them to stay put while flying back down to earth. She never explained what she was doing there, whether that was getting seeds for more plants or buying packaged goods that they didn’t have the pleasure of seeing. What she was doing would remain a mystery none of them truly cared about, because the holiday was less about what she was doing, and more what they could do without her. 

These were the days that Abby roamed the broken homes and ran her hands over the weathered bookshelves. These were the days that Blogg would sit under the curly willow tree, resting in it’s shade and curved branches as he read contentedly, hidden away from the rest of the world. These were the days Gonnigan would try his very best to do magic he hadn’t really gotten the hang of yet, without worrying about endangering others. These were the days of complete freedom, the feeling of adulthood and the air of mystery and excitement. 

Today though, Abby had decided against revisiting the crumbling buildings of the city. She had a goal in mind, something she was completely set on, and that would be acquiring the journal from a few days ago and reading through as much of it as she could. Every single morning since the day they’d discovered it she’d been rushing downstairs to try and get her hands on it again, but to her dismay, Blogg had always gotten there first. The pink fairy girl could have sworn that the much shorter half-breed slept with it in his bed. 

This time, Abby had decided not to waste any of the holiday by going down to the basement and digging through possible hiding spots only to find Blogg once again harboring it himself. She was going straight to the source of the problem itself, that being Blogg never seemed to put the book down for a single second. Abby Cadabby would not sit by and let this happen every single day, no, she was going to use her charms and wit to get the book all to herself while no caretaker was there to apprehend her. She patted her tulle skirt with pink paws, straightening it to hopefully look more presentable, before fluttering towards where Blogg was sitting.

The twinkling of magic in the air gave her presence away almost instantly, causing a gruff sigh from Blogg as he snapped the book shut and looked around to try and find the source of the noise. “Abby? I know it’s you. Don’t try to hide from me.”

The pompom haired girl giggled, flying to be right in front of Blogg as she crossed her legs midair and floated gracefully down, her dress looking almost like an open umbrella as it caught the air and floated downwards with her. “Hiya, Blogg! Nothin gets past you, huh?”

Blogg grit his teeth, pulling the book close to his chest and detaching his wand from his leather, studded belt. This was not what he wanted on his day of peace, the most annoying of his peers sitting in front of him and babbling nonsense while trying to take the things that he rightfully found. He would not stand for her actions either. 

“No. Nothing does, because you would have been quieter if you walked behind me, or waited for the wind to blow away from me so I didn’t hear your flying so easily. You’re out of touch.” He spoke this all with a grimace, his teeth looking like they were glued together. “You can’t have the book, so don’t even ask. I’m reading something very important right now-”  
“Out of the book.” Abby nodded, her pom-pom like pigtails bounced with her head as she did so. She’d cut him off again, like she often did, but she didn’t notice or care at all, really. She was just stating the obvious, staring at Blogg like she was hooked onto every word he was saying. She blinked once or twice more than usual, Blogg guessed it was a subtle attempt at batting her eyelashes, but he didn’t question it for too long. 

“Yes. Out of the book.” His teeth finally detached from each other as he sighed, re-opening the book to the page he’d been on with some effort. The yellowed and slightly torn pages all being written on with the same black ink made them all look similar, and he didn’t want to ruin the book by attempting to number the pages. He could get relatively close by trying to memorize how thick each side felt in his hands as he read though, maybe one day he could make a bookmark. Maybe out of a leaf from this very tree.

“What’s so important about it? If it’s REAALLLY important you should probably tell someone..” A pink finger tapped Abby’s chin as she looked around the area, mouth pursed into a cute pout. “OH! I know. What if you told me about it?!” She grinned at him, placing her hands back in her lap gently as she tilted her head. 

“..You won’t leave unless I tell you, right?” The purple fairy blinked slowly, the tired expression on his face making him look much older than he was. A lot of things about him aged him, Abby thought. The eyebags under his eyes, the matting of his fur, the jagged ends of his nails. All those things made him look old and unkempt, which didn’t match the rest of him in her opinion. She shook her head no. She would not leave until her wish had been fulfilled. 

Blogg kicked his legs into the cloud slightly, using the leverage he got to push himself backwards, nestling himself into two large roots of the tree. The roots tangled and pushed themselves through the cloud layer both ways, curling around the area and poking through the bottom and top. His favorite spot resembled a chair, the roots acting as his armrests as he sighed again, before clearing his throat and beginning to explain.

“Mrs. Sparklenose knew something in this journal that we didn’t, right? I think there’s actually a lot in here she’s been keeping from us..” His blue hand stroked a page gently, as if he were comforting the book itself. He wasn’t even looking at Abby as he talked to her, staring straight into the pages of the leather-bound journal. “The most disturbing one isn’t even the prophecy. It’s this.”

He turned the book around carefully, trying to keep from damaging the pages.

The header of the page looked like it had been scribbled down hastily with a dried out dip pen, the letters etched into the paper permanently from the sharp tip, and the ink skipping slightly when it had been drawn. Some areas seemed thicker than others, the black ink dripping down onto the page and staining areas that could have been put to better use. Blogg could not blame the author for the messy writing though, considering the subject matter and the contents of the book. The one word header was jarring, and even he had felt himself holding his breath as he read it. “Corruption.”

Sketches littered the page. What looked like simple anatomy practice had been labeled with question marks and the gunk of missing sticky notes, the heavy handed writing carrying throughout. On the right page, there was a smudged date that had become unreadable, and a paragraph written in the same way the rest of the lettering had been. Abby didn’t have the chance to read it before Blogg twisted the book back towards himself, pulling it closer to his face and chest. 

“You.. You turned it around too fast.” The muffled voice of Gonnigan was barely heard over the breeze, the boy using his hands to pull the neck of his hoodie over his mouth for comfort. “I couldn’t.. Read that.” 

Blogg was a bit startled. He hadn’t noticed the sounds of flight magic, or any shadows that Gonnigan was casting. He didn’t hear breathing or footsteps, he just saw that the boy was suddenly in front of him. At least Abby looked somewhat surprised too, turning her head to face Gonnigan with wide eyes and tightly clamped mouth. The purple trollfairy cleared his throat a second time, pointing to the paragraph in the book. 

“Fairy corruption. A guy the author knew.. Just. Lost it one day. It says that he started attacking his family and the town below us before he was arrested and restrained. No one knows what causes it.”

Gonnigan gulped, gripping his grey and black hoodie a little bit tighter, and shoving his hands farther into the sleeves. The boy’s eyes darted back and forth frantically between the book, the roots of the tree, Abby, and his own shoes. 

“D..do you really think we should be.. Messing with this stuff?” He whispered slightly louder than before, his voice sounding parched and rough from being quiet so much of the time. Gonnigan kicked his shoe into the cloud below him, the powdery white layer puffing up and floating around like dust as he did so. He was chewing on his bottom lip, something he often did, but for now it was obstructed by his hoodie. Even though he did that on purpose, he was still grateful for the fact that it was. Blogg and Abby wouldn’t have cared if they noticed anyways.

The shortest of the trio, Blogg, shut the book more carefully this time, tucking it into his belt next to his wand. He let out an exasperated breath, adjusting the book until it was comfortable against his matted, purple fur. It was dangerous to be attempting anything from a random journal in the basement, Gonnigan was right about that. But the allure of forbidden information seemed to tug at his and Abby’s souls like the snake in the Garden of Eden. The apple they had been offered was sweet and red. No matter how sick it made them in the end, they just had to take a bite. Gonnigan didn’t look at the book the same way.

Even Abby could sense the tension in the air, resisting her urge to grab the book away from the cracked and dry leather belt around Blogg’s waist. Instead, the pink fairy pulled out her own wand, using the same levitation spell as before to gather up bits of cloud and put them back down. The cloud bits were light and airy, making building with them both effortless and frustrating at the same time. Once she had built a nice lump with a divot for her to sit in, she fluttered upwards, moving herself to sit back down on what she had made.

“I think we should.” Abby’s shrill voice was a sharp contrast to the deeper and growly tones of Bloggs, or the quiet whispers of Gonnigan. It broke the silent atmosphere every time she spoke, even if there had been talking moments before. “It’s.. calling to us. Blogg, even YOU can’t be a grump and deny it. It totally is, or else you wouldn’t be carrying that thing around like a newborn baby.”

Blogg grunted, pushing himself upwards with his hands while gently flapping his butterfly-like wings to give himself more of a boost. His teal hand gripped the book on his belt as he eyed Abby suspiciously.

“I don’t think you’re wrong, but I don’t know what you want to do about it if you’re right.” 

His voice sounded icy and reserved, a million thoughts running through his mind. Possibilities were endless for things that could go wrong if they attempted to fufil this sort of prophecy, and the book wasn’t a totally reliable source of information. Blogg had noticed inconsistencies within the journal and the classroom textbooks he had grown up on. There were pages ripped or missing in the leather bound book that could have been helpful, even integral, to the mission he knew Abby was thinking about pursuing. The hand that was grabbing the book traced the golden lettering on the front gently, once again looking like he was attempting to comfort the journal itself. 

What did Abby want to do about it? Blogg could think of all the ways it could potentially go wrong, but Abby’s foresight was bar none. She would suggest the first idea she thought of, whether it had any sort of logical backing behind it or not. Abby’s gaze fixed on Blogg’s dark and tired eyes, crossing her pink paws in a bit of an intrepid pose. 

“If I'm right, we could be down there right now, helping people. If I'm right, we could try to help, win, and become heroes. Do you want to try and ignore destiny? I don’t think you do. Y’know just as much as I do that this feels right. If we can help people just by existing where they do, if we’re PREDETERMINED to do the right thing, why shouldn’t we try? We could go now, even, if I'm right.”

Going now? Without any sort of preparation, funds, supplies or even the knowledge of their teacher? Blogg’s grip tightened. “No, Abby. If we’re going to do something like that we need to tell Mrs. Sparklenose. Her blessing in this sort of thing is really important. If we go down there and need help, and we did it without asking her, do you really think she’d be willing and excited to pull us out of any mess we got ourselves into? What if we don’t have food, Abby? Where would we stay? We can’t fly back and forth every single day.”

“Then Gonnigan will ask her.” Abby rose from her cloud seat she had made, stomping a pink paw against the fluffy white surface as she spoke. “You know I’m not going to give up on this. If I ask she might say no to me like she did yesterday, and if you ask she’ll DEFINITELY say no. So we should send Gonnigan, because he’s in on this, right, Gonni?”

Gonnigan gulped, shutting his eyes tightly so he didn’t have to see his classmates staring at him. Their eyes bore into him like drills, scraping away at layers of his being until he couldn’t find the strength to say no. He couldn’t tell either of them the way he felt, knowing how attached to the book Blogg had become, and how connected to the idea of saving everyone and being part of a prophecy Abby was. Gonnigan couldn’t bring himself to shatter their dreams, or weigh them down with his anxious pessimism. His mouth felt dry and sticky, the words stuck inside of his throat unable to escape. He hesitated opening his eyes, simply nodding his head in agreement even though he knew he didn’t agree at all. Now he’d gotten himself stuck into this. Now he had to confront his teacher.

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as he opened them slowly, turning on his heel to run back to the safety of the schoolhouse they lived in. His heart was pounding in his ears as he flapped his wings to try and accelerate, just wanting to get away from the situation. Was he that much of a coward that he couldn’t even say no to his only friends? His wings had caused his feet to hover above the ground, pushing him forwards just as quickly through the open door of the place he called home. 

A senseless panic attack was building inside of him, his thoughts spiraling and dragging him down into the depths of his own panic. He knew whatever he thought from this point was illogical, overstepping the boundaries of what was possible and what made sense to panic about. It was just an imaginary trip to earth based on a passage in a journal, it wasn’t like they were flying into a war, and still his lower lip trembled, and his eyes let go of the tears that had been building.

Who were they to think that they could save anyone? Who were they to go down to a world they had never touched, seen or spoken to anyone from, and try to save it. Were they strong enough to protect these people they’d never met? Were they smart enough to come up with a plan good enough to convince others to follow? Gonnigan couldn’t even consider any of those to be the case. His feet touched the ground gracefully, settling into the wooden floors of the main area. He had put them all in danger with a single, stupid nod. He hoped to whatever power was watching over him that Mrs. Sparklenose would laugh and deny his request. Gonnigan did not want to be responsible for the blood of anyone on his hands, whether that was the innocents down below, one of his friends, or his own.

His knees buckled, dropping him to the ground as he clutched his hoodie, pulling himself into a hug. Coward. Abby was going to try and go down there anyways now that she thought she had everyone’s support. Blogg was going to go along with it, bringing his journal and trying to convince everyone it would be alright. They’d drag him along too, wouldn’t they? Like they always did, grabbing his wrist and tugging him to places he didn’t want to be in. Gonnigan wished they’d listen to him, or anything he had to say, but how could they when he couldn’t even open his mouth to speak when it was most important?

The room was quiet, save for the soft sobbing of Gonnigan as he crumpled into the floor, praying that he never had to blame himself for a mistake like this again any time soon. Praying that the dangers down below would pale in comparison to the punishment they’d get from Mrs. Sparklenose, who was usually quite understanding. He couldn’t let anyone die if he was destined to save them, but how could he save anyone if he couldn’t even say a two letter word when it was needed most?


End file.
